Sixteen
by quillandspindle
Summary: "They never warn you about this part of motherhood", Veronica mused, "the part where you watch your baby girl fall in love with another mother's child, when you realize you now have to share."
1. IN

**A/N: New story! On a whim, I thought it would be fun to write a series of stories of Puck and Sabrina at different ages, and title them accordingly. This one inexplicably ended up being an essay on motherhood. Insane! I hope you enjoy anyway. Three things -**

 **One: this story is not a sequel to Fourteen. It's not even related.**

 **Two: this is not a oneshot. There are three chapters in all.**

 **Three: Michael Buckley owns everybody in my story. _Everybody!_ Sniff.**

* * *

 ** _Dedication:_**

 ** _To my mother, who said, "You'll understand when you become a mother someday."_**

* * *

"How long has he been in there?"

"A month."

"And he has resisted all intervention?"

"Without exception."

"This has gone on long enough."

"I agree."

"Tell her to bring the girl when she comes."

"At once."

* * *

"Try to relax," Veronica Grimm murmured as she smoothed down the front of her wool blazer. "She's not nearly as awful as everyone believes."

"I'm not afraid of her," her daughter replied, hands clenched by her side, as they strode down the paths of Central Park, New York City, in the late evening. "But I can think of a hundred people I'd rather meet. Titania has serious anger management issues."

Veronica turned around quickly to check that they were alone, then spoke again: "Knock-knock."

"Who's there?" A voice spoke from the statue in front of them.

"Weeda."

"Well, _that's_ new. Weeda who?" The voice sounded mildly amused.

"Weeda last ones you gonna see if you don't leddus in." Veronica delivered her punchline.

Sabrina Grimm groaned as the voice chuckled. "Good one, Veronica Grimm."

"I still don't understand why, if you recognized us, you still needed a password."

The statue shimmered and winked at her.

"You try sitting here rain or shine, 24/7, 365. I gotta get my kicks somehow."

Veronica snorted and turned to her daughter.

"You need to tell Puck that his kingdom could do with a better front-of-house. I know nightclubs that are less humiliating to get into."

"Hey! I heard that!" The statue hissed at them. "I can deny you entrance!"

"No, you can't," Sabrina shot back. "The Queen invited us. And we told you a knock-knock joke. Fair's fair."

A rude sound came from the statue's rear end just as the quiet of Central Park exploded into the noisy chatter of the Golden Egg pub. The two women blinked at the patrons as they took a few seconds to adjust to the new scene.

"Veronica and Sabrina Grimm," a new voice made them turn their heads to stare at a fairy in gold silk, bowing beside them. "Her Majesty is expecting you."

They followed the fairy through a dimly lit corridor to a curtained doorway, behind which they passed to enter the kingdom of Faerie. Sabrina's eyes slowly grew accustomed to the bright lights, framed art and gilt of the palace-within-a-pub.

 _Or Mafia HQ_ , Sabrina thought wryly, remembing her first impression five years ago when she'd delivered a wounded Puck to a family that wasn't expecting him, and welcomed him even less. She'd never gotten over the mental disconnect of the boy fairy belonging to a world that seemed more The-Godfather-meets-Days-Of-Our-Lives than twinkly lights and gossamer gowns.

They were led into an office where an elegantly-dressed middle-aged woman sat behind a large oak desk. Leaning over the desk beside her was a tall, handsome young man. Together, they were poring over a document in quiet discussion.

Titania and Mustardseed: Queen and Prince of Faerie - Puck's family.

In spite of knowing that they were there by invitation, Sabrina and Veronica stood a little straighter and drew in deep breaths as they were announced.

"Ah, yes, the Grimms. Welcome." Titania rose and emerged from behind the desk, as Mustardseed came toward them with his hand outstretched.

"Thank you for coming," the younger Fae prince said, smiling at them. "I trust there were no problems entering?"

Sabrina shook her head, marveling for the hundredth time at how different the two brothers were, and how, had she not known otherwise, she'd never have guessed that Puck was the older by several centuries.

"I shall get straight to business," Titania said, waving them to high-back leather chairs. "This is about Puck."

Sabrina wasn't surprised; things were invariably "about Puck" when it involved the Grimms being in Faerie.

"You see, my son refuses to come out of his room. We haven't seen him since he first shut himself away just over a month ago."

"A month?" Veronica asked. "Is he unwell?"

"We don't know."

"What do you think he's doing in there?"

"We don't know that, either. He is not communicating and has ignored any attempts to persuade him to come out."

"He eats his meals, though," Mustardseed added thoughtfully from his chair, and Sabrina detected a sardonic exasperation in his tone. "So we know at least that he's not starving."

"Yes, Puck would never survive a hunger strike," she observed, not bothering to hide her own sarcasm, "but that doesn't tell us anything."

"No, it doesn't. That's why we asked you to come here," Titania turned to Sabrina, sighing as she leaned forward and laced her fingers together.

"Me?"

Titania exchanged a glance with Mustardseed before turning back to the Grimms, her gaze suddenly penetrating and assessing, as if she were not quite convinced they were up to the task.

"You're Puck's chosen protector, are you not? Years ago, when he returned, broken, to us, his healing vessel selected you."

Oh. _That_. Yes, she would remember the stench and humiliation forever.

"He chose you over Moth, his betrothed," Titania pressed her point.

 _Who was a sycophantic murderer,_ Sabrina mused. It didn't prove a thing: _anyone_ in their right minds would choose anyone else over _her_.

 _Not that Puck had been in his right mind then. Or ever._

"He was in a coma," she said instead.

Titania continued as if she hadn't spoken. "And it appears that, even conscious, he is quite fond of you."

Sabrina blinked, speechless.

"Until he met you and the rest of the Grimms, he hadn't aged a day over his childhood. But after. . ." Mustardseed let his words trail off meaningfully.

"What do you want from Sabrina?" Veronica broke in finally, and Sabrina's shoulders sagged in relief at her mother's voice - a reminder that she wasn't alone in her face-off against the inscrutable Fae Queen.

Titania smiled at Veronica's tone.

"Don't be alarmed," she said. "I . . . Mustardseed and I thought that, given the regard Puck has for your daughter, she might be able to draw him out."

"Or persuade him to let her in." Mustardseed added.

Sabrina looked at Titania and was surprised to see faint worry lines around her mouth. She'd always had trouble remembering that the Queen was also a mother. A mother who, while not exactly the milk-and-cookies sort, genuinely loved her sons. The thought softened her heart slightly toward the austere monarch before her.

"How would I do that?" She ventured, not daring to imagine the ideas Titania must surely have already concocted.

"In whatever way works," Mustardseed supplied. "Whatever _we've_ tried has failed, so do what you must."

"So I can break the door down?"

"We've tried that. Unfortunately, he's magicked it, somehow, so it's invulnerable to damage. And explosives. Also sneaking pixies through the crack, and dismantling."

"He means negotiations," Veronica interpreted. "Talk to Puck. He'll listen to you."

Sabrina seriously doubted it. If the boy had wanted a therapy session, he'd have texted her by now, whining and grouching in as many words as his fingertips could spell before his brain broke down. True: he'd been silent for weeks, but not ominously so; he'd simply never been one for corresponding long-distance.

But Titania's eyes were hopeful, even while her face remained cool and proud. Sabrina's gaze caught on the Queen's white hands - they were clasped, as when she'd offered what Sabrina had initially heard as a business proposition but which could just as well have been a prayer.

* * *

Sabrina rapped her knuckles on the dark wooden door to Puck's room. Beside her, Mustardseed sighed.

"He won't answer," he said, as matter-of-fact as discouraging. "Mostly, the servants just knock to let him know they've brought his next meal."

"How do they get in and out?" Sabrina wondered aloud. "The meals, I mean."

Mustardseed pointed to a square at the bottom corner of the door, about the size of a cat flap. "It melts away and the dishes get swopped. Random times of the day and night, unfortunately, so no one knows when to expect it."

"So as to force their way in," Sabrina finished.

Mustardseed nodded grimly. "He thought of everything."

They stared at each other for a moment, silent in their mutual - if grudging - admiration for the exasperating crown prince of Faerie. Who could've - _should've_ \- been using those smarts for something that actually benefited his kingdom.

Sabrina shook her head and turned back to the door, knocking on it again.

"Puck!" She called out. "Puck! Open up. It's me, Sabrina."

Still silence. They waited. Mustardseed shrugged an _I-told-you-so_.

"Well," Sabrina decided, "I can't negotiate if I don't even know if he's dead or alive in there. Sorry. Wish I could've been -"

"Grimm?"

Mustardseed's eyes widened as Sabrina's mouth dropped open. Neither cared that they looked, in that moment, quite ridiculous.

Sabrina pressed her face close to the door, as if the proximity somehow made it more likely for her to be granted entrance.

"Puck?"

"How do I know you're not an imposter?" His voice sounded muffled and wary.

"What the heck do you think you're doing in there?" She shot back, as Mustardseed shook his head and wearily pinched the bridge of his nose. She was just as hot-headed as his idiot brother! Did she not know the meaning of _negotiation_? This was a lost cause! A total, utter, complete lost -

The door flew open.

Puck stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at her.

"Yep. It's you, all right. As cloyingly sweet as ever."

She glared back.

And then he winked.

"Hello, Ugly."

Mustardseed practically swallowed his own tongue. His mother had been right - this Sabrina Grimm had done the impossible.

Puck turned to his brother, squinting at him through one half-shut eye. "So you brought in the big guns, huh?"

A strange mix of emotions came over the younger Fae prince: relief at this first look at Puck in weeks, anger over how much the court had worried over this incorrigible pest that had thought nothing of locking himself away with no explanation whatsoever, and. . . unexpected resentment toward the human girl, this outsider who'd effortlessly succeeded where everyone else had failed.

He wisely chose to keep those emotions from turning into a fist in his brother's face.

Instead, he said, "What's going on, Puck?"

Puck shrugged. "Nothing. Just got tired of everything and thought I'd take a vacation from it all."

That fist was dangerously close to becoming a painful and satisfying reality.

But Sabrina spoke first.

"People were worried about you, you know. Your Mother. Him." She inclined her head toward a still-simmering Mustardseed.

"Not my problem. No one asked them to care."

Sabrina's eyebrows migrated north. Shutting himself in his room was nothing new - he'd done it countless times back when they were eleven. Then, he'd wanted the attention, had actually been _holding out_ for someone to care. _Now_ . . . ? Yes, something else was definitely up with Puck now.

"Huh." She returned cynically. "So why'd you open the door?"

He glowered at her, but she thought she saw something else under the surface, before it vanished.

"Visiting hours are now over!" He exclaimed. "Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen! We hope you enjoyed the show!"

The door slammed shut in their faces.

They hesitated a second before banging on the door once more, Mustardseed secretly glad to finally land his fist somewhere.

"Puck! Let me in!" Sabrina shouted, as Mustardseed muttered through gritted teeth, "Stop this childish game, brother!"

There was no response this time - not to cajoling, threatening, bargaining, even apologizing. Sabrina wanted to kick herself for ruining the one chance they'd had earlier and, in her frustration, vowed not to leave until Puck answered and she'd got him to come out.

It was not one of her better decisions.

Long after Mustardseed had given up and returned to the main halls to report their dismal failure to Titania, Sabrina sat outside Puck's door, her knees drawn up to her chest, trying to conjure up a magical opening line for her next round of negotiations. Just when she, too, was considering surrendering, the servants brought Puck's next meal, and one for her.

With nothing else to do but wait, she ate, keeping a vigilant eye on Puck's serving growing cold on the lush carpet. Then she dozed fitfully, like guests in a hospital keeping indefinite vigil over their ill and injured, until Mustardseed returned some time later with her mother. Veronica had had dinner with Titania and him and then spent the following hours going over a new merger proposal with the Queen's administrative team. This was the soonest, she told her daughter apologetically, that she'd been able to get away to check on her.

"Titania's prepared rooms. . . in case," Veronica offered gently, "where you can sleep in a proper bed. We can try again tomorrow morning. Or come back another day."

Sabrina shook her head and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and insisted that she'd be fine. Veronica sighed, knowing full well her daughter's stubbornness in the face of a challenge, and one from the Queen of Faerie, no less.

But was there also genuine concern for the irrepressible fairy boy that made her stay by his door so late into the night? He was like family to them, having been adopted by Relda even before Sabrina and her sister had learned the truth about their heritage or found themselves a home in their grandmother's world. And in spite of their brash dismissals of the other's right to occupy the same universe, he'd always been a constant in Sabrina's: where he was, she would inevitably be, and vice versa.

Oh, each claimed to hate the other, with their aggravated insults and name-calling, but Veronica remembered the times they'd saved one another's lives, and made choices that let everyone know the other was significant, was a _priority_. She thought of the way they sometimes looked at each other, that made Henry stiffen and catch his wife's eye over the table; of their body language when they were together in the same room.

And the fact that her daughter was no longer her firstborn angel of a baby, who'd changed her life and bestowed upon her the title _Mother_ ; that golden-haired little girl was now _sixteen_ , just as _he_ was - the boy who, in spite of all her snorting denial, was blatantly important to her.

 _They never warn you about this part of motherhood_ , Veronica mused, _the part where you watch your baby girl fall in love with another mother's child, when you realize you now have to_ share.

She took a deep breath and laid a hand on her daughter's head before heading off to the guest suite alone.

* * *

Who-knew-how-many hours later, in that dreamy state between levels of quasi-consciousness, Sabrina heard the clink and clank of tableware. Snapping her eyes open, she watched in amazement as the plates containing Puck's meal were drawn through the opening in the door, and soiled dishes sent out in their place.

"Puck!" She called, galvanized into action and pressing her face to the door jamb, "it's just me out here. Nobody else is around. Let me in, Stinkhead." Then she added, "Please."

The door pulled away in a crack, and she saw Puck's green eye through it.

"Hey." She said softly, as if he were a frightened animal, rather than a petulant child pouting and pulling faces.

The eye blinked once, twice, thrice, and then he sighed dramatically. "Okay, fine."

The crack widened abruptly and Sabrina found herself staring at the legs of a pair of jeans. She got up in a hurry, almost slamming her forehead into Puck's, pulling back at the last second in awkward panic, even as he grabbed her arm and roughly yanked her through the doorway.

She'd done it! She'd gotten in!

Technically, she'd also gotten him _out_ earlier but on hindsight, that hadn't gone quite as well; fingers crossed that she wouldn't mess up this second chance. She quickly changed gears in her head: before, the plan was to get him to end his isolation and rejoin the family; now she drastically lowered her expectations to simply Not Get Thrown Out.

She was so busy psyching herself for this new strategy that she didn't notice he hadn't moved. She snapped her eyes to his face and found him watching her, his own eyes wary and - was she imagining it? - haunted.

"Puck?" She finally spoke. "What's going on?"

As if her words had broken the spell he was under, he shuddered and walked away. Sabrina quickly turned to follow, then stopped, noticing her surroundings for the first time.

The room was _tiny_.

Not tiny like a broom closet, but tiny like _This Is So Not What I Expected The Royal Suite Of The Crown Prince of Faerie To Look Like_ tiny. His room in her grandmother's house had been _enormous_ , a recreation of the grand outdoors, with no ceiling or walls; borderless.

Puck looked over his shoulder at her, frowning at her just standing there, mouth agape.

"What?" He asked, puzzled.

"Nothing. I . . . just thought it'd look different inside." She sputtered out.

"Been dreaming of being in my room, have you?"

"No!" She flushed. "It's just . . . your room in Ferryport Landing was . . . bigger. Much bigger."

His faced closed. "I got used to living out in the forests and under the stars. And the Old Lady said I could have whatever I wanted, so I told the pigs to make it look like that."

Sabrina nodded, leaving it at that. She could relate - she'd had to share a room with Daphne for a while, but it was more than just the size. It was. . . space; all kinds of space, along with their different significances.

 _What had this room meant to him_ , she wondered, _if even after years of exile, he'd chosen not to be reminded of it?_

She looked around, taking in more details. An unmade bed. A bookcase lining one wall, stuffed with leather-bound books, crushed scrolls, and action figures of a species with which she was not familiar. Piles of clothes strewn about the floor next to the bookcase. A small wooden table, on which sat his most recent meal, along with tools and other random odds and ends.

Puck was facing her again, hands in his pockets, shoulders in a permanent shrug.

"Uh . . . maybe you should eat. Your food's cold." Sabrina blurted out, just to say something. _What's wrong with me? Have we ever been this awkward? I just spent the last few hours plotting to get in here, and now I've got no plan other than to act like his mother?_

Wordlessly, he grabbed a roll from one of the plates and began to chew, still eyeing her.

 _Start negotiating, Sabrina_ , she reminded herself.

She cleared her throat.

"So, this is where you spent all your time before . . ."

 _Stupidstupidstupid!_

But Puck swallowed and nodded in slow motion. He pulled out one of the chairs and sat down, beginning to attack his food in earnest.

"You gonna stand the whole time?" He mumbled through a mouthful of food, gesturing at the other chairs crowded around the table.

She gratefully sat, and watched him eat.

"They sent you to check on me," he continued helpfully, when Sabrina tried and failed to come up with something new to say. She exhaled in relief.

"Like I said, they're worried about you. And you haven't exactly been, you know, dropping hints."

He chewed quietly, looking down at his steak.

Sabrina started to feel worried herself.

"Puck?" She said, tentatively, concern making her uncharacteristically gentle. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"

His head snapped up and for a moment, there was the old gleam in his eyes and he looked on the verge of a sarcastic comeback. Then, he wilted and stabbed at a chunk of potato.

"Dunno." He said under his breath.

A sigh. "Maybe."

A louder sigh. "Probably."

Sabrina's eyes widened. "But you're an Everafter! You don't get sick!"

"I caught your puberty virus, didn't I? It made me plenty sick!" He glared at her, but it was half-hearted.

"What? You're not still moping about that, surely? I thought we dealt with that long ago! For goodness' sake, Puck -"

She paused - something had just occurred to her.

"Wait - is this one of your dumb pranks?"

His response was startling. He swallowed abruptly, almost choking, and inhaled sharply. His eyes - wide - darted to the pile of junk on the table, before squeezing shut, as if he were in pain.

Sabrina didn't miss the glance. She followed it to the assortment of items lying in a mess beside them and - she was only noticing it now - piled on the floor beneath. There was nothing significant about them - bottles and wires and gears and string and poky things and tubes of glue: things for making other things. She wasn't a crafting sort of person herself, but she'd seen Basil play with similar stuff, turning them into airplanes and crude machines and other products of his fertile imagination.

So Puck was a tinkerer, too. She'd known that - in the past, he'd demonstrated quite the inventive mind himself, thinking up assault weapons and traps and practical jokes to make her life miserable.

 _Oh no. Were those his prank supplies?_

Suddenly, she began to be _very_ afraid.

Slowly, she pushed her chair back and prepared to bolt for the door. To heck with not getting thrown out of his room - she'd be happy to abandon the mission right then and there and just save her own skin. Or hair. Or whatever other part of her person this incorrigible boy was planning to zero in on.

But Puck just sat, grinding his food like a cow, looking defeated.

Sabrina froze in mid-launch, befuddled.

"I can't." He suddenly spoke, utterly morose. "I couldn't. I might as well be dead."

"You couldn't . . . what?" She lowered her behind back onto her chair.

He pointed his fork limply at the pile of junk. "I thought if I could build an arsenal, like I did in the war, and pull some really awesome pranks, I'd be . . . cured. But I couldn't. . . I wasn't. . . I made lots -" he turned and waved his fork toward his bed, and Sabrina realized there was a small mountain of jars, bottles and weird contraptions beside it - "but I didn't feel like pranking. Or joking. Or doing anything fun."

He turned his eyes on her, and they were huge and sad. "The Trickster King is dead."

He looked so lost and miserable that Sabrina wanted to reach over the table and hug him. Until she realized what she'd just thought, and rolled her eyes. It was a _good_ thing that the Trickster King was out of commission - the world was a much safer place, and infinitely more pleasant to live in.

Wasn't it?

No. Because it still didn't solve the mystery of Melancholy Puck.

And, fortunately, if there was anything Sabrina Grimm was good at, it was solving mysteries.

"When did this start?" She began again, feeling at last in her element.

He shrugged. "Can't remember. Feels like I've always been like this."

She rolled her eyes - he was being such a drama queen . . . er, king.

"Okay . . . your mom said you locked yourself in your room about a month ago. Something happened a month ago - what?"

"Nothing."

"Puck," Sabrina sighed, feeling her patience wear out. "Work with me, okay? Try to think - I know it's very hard for you, but try. Um. . . did something happen in Faerie? Your mother do something? You have fight with someone? Uh. . . some important date . . . someone's anniversary. . . a death . . . oh, Oberon's! Is it because your dad died? When did your dad die?"

Immediately, she squeezed her eyes shut and groaned. Puck looked up at her, his moroseness temporarily giving way to an expression of stunned wonder.

"Wow," he breathed almost reverently. "You're even more insensitive and crass than me."

"Sorry," she muttered, her cheeks flaming in embarrassment. "I got carried away."

"Ya think?" He rolled his eyes, voice dripping with sarcasm. Then he deflated once more. "No, s'not his death."

"Then . . . is it someone else? Your mom? Does she have some incurable disease?"

 _Stupid! Titania's an Everafter, too! She doesn't get incurable diseases!_

Puck didn't seem to notice her slip-up, and shook his head. "No one's dying. Except me."

"Stop saying that, Puck. You're not dying. You're just feeling sorry for yourself."

He responded by despondently mashing his potato with the back of his fork.

Sabrina felt helpless in his silence. She tried to think of what Daphne might do - her sister always knew how to make people feel better. Daphne wouldn't try to fix Puck, she realized - she'd drag him instead to the kitchen and pull out all the snacks they could find and park themselves in front of the TV to binge-watch trashy movies until they fell into a food coma.

Unfortunately, she didn't know where the kitchens were in Faerie. Plus, she didn't remember seeing any TVs. And as for junk food, Titania didn't seem the sort of person who'd go anywhere near a potato chip or a hamburger, let alone stock her royal pantries with them.

But maybe they could sneak out of Faerie and find a place that did. After all, they used to do that from Granny's house back when they were younger. Maybe it would do Puck good just to get out for a while.

"Hey," she leaned forward over the table. "Wanna ditch?"

His eyes widened in surprise and lit up.

"For good?"

"What? No! Just for an hour or so. Find someplace different. Get something to drink or . . . something."

Puck narrowed his eyes at her.

"Or something . . ." He repeated. "Did you just ask me out on a _date_? Because that was a really lame way to ask someone out on a date."

Sabrina's cheeks warmed and she gaped at him.

"No! You're so full of it! I'm just trying to help you feel better!"

"By drinking? Like at a pub? So we're gonna drown our sorrows like in the movies and -"

"No! Not like at a pub! I can't believe you! You know I'm not old enough to drink and even if I were, this is not about that! Are you trying to be deliberately stupid or what?"

He threw back his head and laughed. It was as sudden as a thunderclap, and the sound of it turned the corners of Sabrina's mouth upward. She exhaled in relief. This, at last, was more like the Puck she knew. Maybe he was just putting on a show after all; maybe, despite his claims to the contrary, this was just his newest ploy for attention. Whatever it was, it had lifted his mood and returned the glint to his eyes.

He rose and pushed his chair back, his meal abandoned. He made for his window, calling out, "I love it when you get all worked up. I knew that if you came, you'd figure out something crazy to make it all go away."

Sabrina watched him draw back the blinds, then turn back to her, his hand outstretched. Something clicked in her mind.

"Wait - what do you mean 'you knew if I came?' You _wanted_ me to come here? You _planned_ this?"

He shrugged. "Sorta."

"So all this was _fake_? You locked yourself in your room for a _whole freaking month_ and worried your mother to death just so I'd _come visit_?" Her relief was completely replaced by rising anger.

Another laugh. "Oh, this is making me feel _so_ much better!"

Sabrina launched herself at Puck and shot her fist out at his jaw. But he grabbed it and pulled her to him, still chuckling. She swung her other arm, awkwardly, because of how close they were, and he blocked it, then caught her other hand in his, effortlessly pinning her arms behind her back while she struggled, red-faced and fuming.

"I knew you couldn't keep your hands off me, Grimm," he gloated. "But now isn't the time - you were saying something about ditching?"

And before Sabrina could blink, he dropped her hands, slung an arm around her waist, and jumped out the window.


	2. OUT

_**A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I'm slowly replying to them via PM, but here's the next chapter, just in time for the weekend. Ridiculous amounts of fluff, so be warned. Factoid: there is indeed an amusement park in Central Park but, because it's for little kids, I might have taken some liberties with sizes in my description. Enjoy!**_

* * *

 _It's only the landing that kills you_ , Sabrina repeated in her head as her stomach lurched itself into her throat. _The free-fall just makes you barf out all your innards and your self esteem along with them_.

Suddenly, she heard the pop of Puck's wings opening, felt her momentum checked, and then they were rising in a grand arc across the sky. She remembered too late that summer was over, and that it'd been a mistake to have left her jacket behind in Faerie's cloakroom. But how could she have known she'd be zipping into an autumn night with (what felt like) nothing between her bones and hypothermia? At least she had her sweater, but even then, at the speeds at which they were going. . .

As if he'd felt her spasm with the cold, Puck shifted and dove out of the wind, sheltering her with his own body.

"Having fun, Grimm?" His voice was liquid laughter.

"Trying not to throw up all over you," she chittered back between clattering teeth. "This is worse than a roller coaster."

"Well, I wanted to make sure you got your money's worth," he called out as they dipped into a stomach-crunching dive. "We aim to please, you know. And speaking of roller coasters . . ."

She forced her eyes open as she felt herself slow into a landing. Her feet touched something solid - well, as solid as might feel on legs like jello. She teetered, and held onto Puck, all her senses momentarily numbed. Then she noticed the creak of metal, the shiver of something shifting under her feet, and looked down.

And shrieked.

Immediately, a hand was clamped over her mouth and Puck's voice hissed in her ear, insistent.

"Shhhhh! We're not supposed to be here! I don't have any forgetful dust!"

She was standing on a hundred feet of nothing, the soles of her shoes held up by strips of metal stretching across each other in a hollow cage of groaning steel and frisky air. Between the bars, she could see suspended cars swaying slightly in the wind.

"We're on a _ferris wheel_?" She spoke around his fingers.

"We're on top of the world," he corrected, removing his hand.

She eyed the surrounding skyscrapers that dwarfed them and disagreed, but silently, because her focus was on balancing well enough on the steel beams so she wouldn't plummet to certain death. Slowly, gingerly, she eased herself into a squat, then sat squarely, letting her legs dangle. She was still holding on to Puck.

Who thumped his own rear end down beside her with all the ease that had been absent from her own descent, sending a shudder through the steel frame beneath them. Sabrina clutched at him, clutched at the metal under her, clutched at herself, cursing his overconfidence and his invulnerability to gravity.

He smirked, and it occurred to her that he'd done it _precisely_ to annoy her, to get her to keep holding onto him.

She immediately let go.

"If I fall . . ." she warned.

"It'll be like a reverse potato masher," he finished, grinning wickedly at the grid of beams below them.

She grimaced, shivering again, trembling against the chill in the air, and he frowned.

"Oh, I forgot how weak humans are. Here -" he unzipped his hoodie, shrugged it off and handed it to her.

Sabrina blinked, amazed, but took it without protest, muttering a stunned "Thanks".

"Whatever," he replied carelessly.

She carefully slipped it on - one arm at a time, and then the hood - gradually relaxing as she realized she wasn't likely to slip off her perch anytime soon. His scent unexpectedly enveloped her, wafting out from the still-warm fabric around her body and face. It wasn't the stink of sweat on Eleven-Year-Old Boy; this was the sweet smell of skin and soap and strength.

And it was intoxicating.

When had he leapt over the divide between boy and man? When had his body started to betray _hers_?

She groaned inwardly. The timing couldn't have been worse. She'd _finally_ gotten over him, _finally_ overcome her embarrassing childhood infatuation, could _at last_ look him in the eye and call him _just friend_ , was now safely able to be around other, _normal_ boys without her thoughts drifting back to the way his smile made her heart ache.

 _Used to_ make her heart ache, she assured herself. True, it had taken her a few years; he was her first, after all - and it was common knowledge that those first flames always burned the brightest and longest - but she'd done it. Besides, if she were honest with herself, she actually liked him even more this way - when her heart wasn't aching, wasn't doing backflips; when he wasn't _perfect_ , wasn't something to possess.

But now, sitting with their shoulders together, looking out at the unsleeping city, wearing his warmth like a drug, she sensed herself crumbling.

No. Sabrina Grimm did _not_ crumble. She'd saved the world, hadn't she? And she was on a mission from the Queen of Faerie, wasn't she? Which was already successfully underway, she having lured the target out of hiding and coaxed a laugh out of him, albeit at her own expense?

Wasn't it?

"So," she pulled herself together, all businesslike, "here we are on a rickety playground attraction in the middle of Central Park, at -" she checked her watch, "-4:32 am, because you locked yourself in your room for a month, cranking out party tricks. Spill, Puck."

He sighed. "Way to spoil a good thing, Stinky."

Sabrina, her jaw set, kept staring, although _not_ (she firmly clarified with herself) at his profile, proud and beautiful against the city lights.

He risked a glance at her, and looked quickly away. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Like?"

"Like. . . did I ever tell you about the time Jake and I were in Hawaii?"

Sabrina blinked, confused, but Puck went on. "We were looking for this statue of the king . . . what was his name now. . . Kamehameha or something. It was supposed to bestow power on animals and make them talk, not that I thought it was a big deal, you know, since _I_ can turn into animals that talk. Anyway, it turned out to be inside this volcano, right? Extinct, supposedly. So I flew into the crater to find this lava cave where it was supposed to be stashed away, and whaddya know - the thing erupted!"

"Like Pompeii." Sabrina made a valiant attempt to engage in his account.

"If only! Sadly no, nowhere as wonderful as. But yeah - smoke and fumes and ash and screaming - not mine - and all kinds of horrible things. Almost got my wings singed off. It was awesome."

"And did you get the statue?"

"No. Hovered for a while, watching the fun, hoping the lava would blast it out and I could just grab it, floating conveniently out to sea or wherever, but . . . nothing. I guess everything melted away."

"And where was Uncle Jake, while all this _fun_ was going on?"

"Yelling his head off for me on some rock. He'd teleported himself close by because he was worried about me. As if I'd be in danger! In fact, he was so distracted trying to find me that he was clueless his rock was about to go under. He'd have been yesterday's boiled sausage, but I saved him in the nick of time." Puck puffed his chest out, grinning at the memory. "Extinct, my foot. That's the last time we're ever trusting the Frommer's Guides."

"Um. . ." Sabrina frowned as she worked out how to tie this harrowing account to Puck's sudden desire to live like a hermit. "It's a good thing no one got hurt, then. I suppose the rest of your adventures weren't quite as death-defying?"

"No way! They were all like that! Well, some _were_ pretty lame, like that time we were in Istanbul and went shopping at a bazaar and bought a ship in a bottle that turned out to be cursed, and half the people in our hotel ended up with the plague. But there were loads of other times when it was really exciting, and twice. . . no, three times we thought Jake actually died, but it turned out it was just black magic."

"Uncle Jake almost _died_?"

"Only three times! Once in India, and another time in New Orleans, and the third - this was the best - we were in Haiti and there was this priestess. . . "

Sabrina listened, her eyes widening as he told her story after story of breathless quests and daring rescues. She'd always wondered what had happened during those years when he'd traveled the globe with her uncle, searching for magical artifacts and wrangling magic from continent to continent. Whenever he came home, he'd acted as if it were merely a necessary pit stop between laps around a world so exciting that he couldn't wait to return to it. She'd always felt a little hurt that he hadn't been more thrilled to see her, hadn't missed her even half as much as she'd missed him. She'd wondered if he'd met other people on his journeys, if they were more interesting than she could ever be in her small town, living her normal life, the one she'd chosen over marvel and magic.

Now, at last, she was hearing about those journeys, hearing him paint pictures of freedom and eye-opening discovery, of camaraderie and culture, of collecting life experiences without putting down roots, of growing up under the stars and gilded ceilings and colorful canopies alike.

And if he were exaggerating some of the details of his own courage and ingenuity, she didn't care to call him out on it; she'd seen enough of it during the war to know he was perfectly capable of everything he'd claimed to have accomplished. She was just glad for the spark in his eyes as he talked.

"It must've been . . . different . . . to come home and live in a palace again after all those adventures, huh?" She said when he had at last run out of stories and grown silent.

He didn't answer at first, only looked out at the dark sky.

"It took some getting used to," he eventually said, noncommittally.

"I bet your Mom was glad to have you back, being King once more. I still can't bring myself to call you 'Your Majesty', by the way. Sorry, but you'll always be just 'Stinkbutt' to me."

"I don't care what you call me."

"Really? No! Whatever happened to 'I'm a king! I'm royalty! You're just the dirt trapped in the soles of my bejeweled boots!'?"

Puck frowned at her. "I never said that."

She grinned. "You're right. Because you didn't know the word 'bejeweled'. But come on, Puck. You were all 'King this' and 'I deserve that' and 'How Dare You Make Me Sleep On The Floor?' Remember? You've finally got what your father kept from you. You're finally king."

"Well, maybe I don't wanna be king."

The words fell from his lips like a plea, and hung in the air between them. Sabrina's head swam with the implication of it. She silently counted to ten before reminding him that five years ago when they'd met, it was _all_ he'd ever wanted.

He turned to her, his expression hard.

"Yeah, but then it was fun! I could do whatever I wanted and order people around, and conquer who I liked and everyone obeyed me! Even Mother!"

"So what changed?"

"What changed was there's more to being king than just telling people what to do. There's. . . laws and fairness and poor people and people who've lost homes and jobs and . . . treaties with other kingdoms, and budgets and decisions about criminals. And traditions. Oh, my word, the cursed traditions!"

His eyes, blazing as he'd delivered his tirade, looked away once more, upward at the stars.

Sabrina was quiet, listening.

"But surely you've always known about all those?" She prompted at last.

"Duh! You'd have to be blind and deaf and stupid not to notice _all those_ happening around you in the court, every day, every minute!" He ran his fingers through his hair.

"And . . . but . . .you've been doing them all these years since Oberon . . . since you took the throne . . . right? As far as I've heard - Mom and Dad talk about Faerie sometimes, I mean - you're doing a pretty okay job."

"Of course I've been doing them! I watched Father _do them_ for centuries. It was all we were ever taught, Mustardseed and I. Drilled into our heads by boring tutors and books and those horrible meetings with other courts. I could _do them_ in my sleep."

"So. . . what's the problem?" Sabrina ventured, genuinely puzzled.

"The problem -" he spat out, "- is that I always . . . I never . . . they never _meant_ anything to me. It was just something kings and princes did. Every one, in every generation. I did them because my parents said to, because they were the right thing to do. But actually _caring_ how they turned out? Actually feeling like the kingdom was _important_? Never! Until one day I realized my kingdom _was_ important to me, and that I _was_ caring about _Those Things_ \- those useless old ways, the laws that didn't work, the people with no homes - things only _adults_ give a damn about."

His voice died away to a whisper. "Not _boys_."

Sabrina inhaled as it hit her - what was _really_ torturing him. It all made sense now - his despondency, his claims of being tired of everything, of wanting a break, the way his face had lit up when she'd suggested escaping, and his hopeful clarification: "for good?"

"It's not just about being king, is it? You don't wanna grow up."

He breathed out noisily, screwing his eyes tightly shut, the muscles in his jaw cording and relaxing.

"I don't want to _care_ about my kingdom. I don't want to be a king . . . like _him_." He turned to Sabrina, his face twisted in anger. "I don't want to be like my _father_."

Oh.

Sabrina leaned away, pushed back by the weight of his burden, an involuntary action that caused her to wobble slightly on her seat, and she flung out an arm for balance. Reflexively, Puck reached out and grabbed her.

And didn't let go.

She slid her hand down his arm until her fingers found his.

"You are nothing like him." She said quietly.

"How do you know? You hardly knew him."

"I know that holding on to his kingdom, even if he was making a mess of it, was more important to him than his own son."

Beside her, she saw Puck wince, but she ploughed on.

"While _you're_ trying to push it all away, because you'd rather not have it than screw it up."

Puck said nothing.

Sabrina bit back everything else she wanted to say - that it was just cold feet, that he was overthinking, that he was having a panic attack, that he was trying to live too far ahead in his career, because he was really just a boy, still allowed to dabble in the innocence of youth; only sixteen.

Then he looked at her, and her breath caught in her throat. Perhaps it was his face, uncharacteristically serious and missing its trademark smirk. Or perhaps it was the intensity in his eyes, glistening too-bright and threatening to spill over from under a furrowed brow. Or perhaps it was even the sudden, stark reminder that he was really much older than that, had seen other kingdoms rise and fall, had lived history like a storybook, insulated from its harsh reality by the shallowness of an unevolving childhood.

Had growing up stripped away more from him than just years? Now that he was no longer immune to time, had time caught up with him and exponentially inundated him with centuries' worth of hindsight and wisdom?

"As long as I stayed eleven, I couldn't _be_ him," Puck finally broke the silence. "But I'm growing up, growing older. I'm getting more like him every day."

Sabrina cocked her head. Now he was _definitely_ wallowing.

"Puck, you're not turning into your father. And anyway, it's not like you need to become Mr Wise Old King _tomorrow_. I mean, your Mom's still acting Queen, which means you can take your time and just grow into it over the next couple of centuries, right?"

"Next spring."

"What?"

"My coronation. It's in the spring. That's when I'll take the throne. Officially. For real. Mother's retiring. Says she can't do it alone anymore, not without Father; can't keep up in these modern times where anything goes and everyone's on technology and everything's moving so fast." Puck sighed heavily. "We decided last month."

 _Last month_.

Just about the time he cracked and went AWOL.

And regressed to childhood.

And started his side business of DIY pranking supplies.

And took up his old Trickster mantle.

And failed.

Because he'd already moved on, had already grown up, was no longer the boy who lived in a bubble of frivolity and mania.

It wasn't just cold feet. The King of Faerie was having a midlife crisis, and it was a real doozy.

* * *

Sabrina told him as much.

He reacted with all kinds of disbelief, and twice as much outrage.

She let him gripe and grouse, and then coolly held out her palm. "And before you ask, no, it's not a virus. It's not gonna kill you, and it's not gonna turn you into someone you're not, least of all your dad. People just go through this sometimes, when they're not sure they're who they want to be. You've gotta just pull yourself together and face things, see where that takes you and know that we'll be here for you and not let you screw up, okay?"

He stared at her in grudging awe.

"Wow. That's actually a worse pep talk than the one you gave Charming during the war."

She shoved him, then cursed at herself as the recoil made her overcome with sudden vertigo.

"I mean it. I know you''ll be a good king. You're smart and good with people when you want to be, and you've got more common sense than you pretend to have. I know it's saved _me_ from doing some real stupid things when we were younger. Maybe you should just listen to your own common sense sometime. It might save _you_."

Puck was quiet for a while, thinking. Then he said, almost to himself, "I hate to say it, but that actually worked. Who would've thought that Sabrina Grimm, who couldn't save the world without ticking off every single person in her own family, could actually talk sense?"

He threw his head back and laughed. "At some point after I become king, remind me to hire you as my royal adviser. Or court jester. Or, if being on staff doesn't work out, just marry you. That way, if I need a break from the madness, you're close by, and a whole lot easier to escape to the top of the world with."

Sabrina's breath hitched.

Did he just freaking _propose_? _Again_? She should've known better than to assume he'd outgrown that phase.

And yet . . . maybe she _didn't_ want him to outgrow that phase, because why else would her heart have done that funny fluttering thing at his words?

Dang. She'd have to pull herself together, quick.

"Speaking of 'top of the world', we really need to do something about your communication. Moping for an entire month just to get me to come talk to you? Not how it's done, stupid."

"Well, it worked, didn't it? You came, and looky - here we are, _communicating_."

"Missing the point. Next time, _call_ me. Or send a text. Or email. Without waiting _weeks_ and freaking out your entire kingdom."

" _Text_ you? What would I say? 'I need to talk'? No way! That's the lame thing couples say when they wanna break up! Or when they want to go from Just Friends to . . . ew."

"No, dummy. That's ' _we_ need to talk'; ' _I_ need to talk' is completely different."

" _Big_ difference. You still have to talk about feelings and stuff! Ugh! I'm getting a rash just thinking about it."

Sabrina shook her head, then straightened as an idea came to her.

"Code word!"

"Huh?"

"We use a code word! So, I had a couple of friends in middle school who were completely boy-crazy. Everything else about them I loved, but they had this thing they did that drove me nuts. Whenever they saw a cute boy walk in a room, they'd point him out to each other and rate him, but in code. Like, '10 o'clock: hawk.' Or '6 o'clock: falcon.' "

Puck wrinkled his nose like he'd just smelled something funky. "So you want to talk in code about boys? What the -"

"No! I was just getting to it. It was easier for my friends to talk that way about boys they liked, instead of saying their names, right? They picked birds because . . . oh, I dunno why they picked birds. So, anyway, what if you had some kind of code word you could text me when you wanted to talk about something, and I'd see and know because we pre-arranged it?"

Puck considered this.

"So . . . like . . . 'Code Red' For when someone died? And 'Code Yellow' for I-Couldn't-Find-My-Socks-Again, and 'Code Puke Green' for Come-Over-So-I-Can-Rub-Slime-In-Your-Hair?"

"Don't you dare. Also, I probably wouldn't remember what each color meant, but yeah, that's the general idea."

"Wait. Backtrack. On second thoughts, too obvious; people would figure it out. Okay, what about 'Ferris Wheel'? Because of tonight."

"Er, okay . . . I guess; something like that. Mind you, I'm hoping that eventually you'd just say you wanna talk, and not need to use the code word forever. It's just, you know, for emergencies, and in the beginning."

"Works for me. And so when you see the code word, you'll hop on the subway and come to Faerie right away, and we can fly off to Coney Island and sit on top of the Wonder Wheel?"

"Why the Wonder Wheel?"

"Because it's awesome, and way bigger than this one, duh! Pity we didn't end up there tonight, but just as well - you're already freezing in the middle of Central Park; can you imagine Coney Island? You'd be a Grimmsicle."

"Whatever."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, and Sabrina suddenly felt the first fingers of sleep reach for her. _Not a good idea to zone out while sitting on air_ , she warned herself.

"So," Puck began again, "if you had to pick a code bird for me, what would it be?"

Sabrina sat up in astonishment.

"Seriously? You wanna play that dumb game?"

"What - _you've_ never played it? Are you sure 'couple of middle school friends' -" he made air quotation marks with his fingers "-isn't code for 'me, myself and I?' "

"No!"

"So you're not in love with anyone right now?"

"What is this, Puck?"

"Didn't answer the question."

"It's none of your business."

"I just spilled my innards and talked about my problems, and you're clamming up about stupid boys?"

 _You're right about 'stupid'_ , Sabrina thought, and sighed. She'd have to lie.

"No. There isn't anyone now."

"Oh, so there _was_?"

She gritted her teeth.

"Come on!" Puck whined. "Name a bird."

 _Freaking crow_ , she wanted to say, _because you never shut up_. _Or rooster, because you're freaking keeping me awake when I'm half asleep and want to stay that way._

But she rubbed her hands over her face and made herself think: _he was right - he_ had _opened up to her tonight, and it wasn't a small deal for him._ But it wasn't fair - she'd been doing so well, keeping him at arm's length, convincing herself she was over him, the stupid, vulnerable, beautiful boy.

"Phoenix." She said at last.

"Magical and gorgeous. Good one. Although I'm slightly offended you didn't pick 'eagle' - you know, like, king of the birds."

"Not magical and gorgeous, but because you're impossible to get rid of." _And because just when I'm sure anything I feel for you is dead, you find some new way of rising from the ashes to wreak havoc in my life._

Puck grinned at her, but Sabrina's eyes were closing of their own accord, fatigue stealing into her body now that her mission was over and he was himself again.

"It'll be sunrise soon," she slurred into a yawn, "We should probably leave before the tourists and fitness freaks spot us." _And before something disastrous happens, like I lose consciousness and fall to my death. Or kiss you._

 _I_ didn't _just think that!_

She huffed, disgusted with herself. "Fly us home, Your Majesty."

"As you wish." He stood suddenly and pulled her up with him. She grabbed at him to keep her balance, and fell against his chest.

She gulped, suddenly wide awake.

They stood together, his arms loose around her, her own crushed between them. She felt him tense and then, when she didn't push him away - _how to_ , she rationalized, _without tipping us both over_? - he relaxed and drew her in. She was acutely aware of his hands on her back, her waist; of her heartbeat - and his -; of her head tucked under his chin. This was not a casual farewell hug, or a Welcome Back tackle; this was No Reason At All _holding_.

She groaned again. _Not fair. NOT FAIR._

"Thanks," he said quietly.

"Uh," was her brilliant response.

Still he held her.

And, fighting down a despairing whimper, she snaked her arms around him and surrendered.

They stood for a long time, giving each the moment when the other crossed over, becoming _us_.

It was as frightening - and as glorious - as she'd imagined.

"Operation Phoenix." He rumbled into her hair. "That's our code."

She laughed against his body, lulled by endorphins, even while her heart was still drumming on adrenaline. "Way better than 'Ferris Wheel'. I like it."

He finally drew back to look at her.

"I noticed you forgot the drinks, by the way. But I'm pretty sure this counts as a date. Our first."

What the hey - she'd lost the battle already. She grinned at him, heady in the moment. "Does it?"

He arched his eyebrow, his gaze intense as it dropped to her lips.

"You want me to prove it?" He dared her.

"Unless you aren't the sort to give out kisses on the first date?" She recklessly returned.

"Ah, but it wouldn't be our first _kiss_ , would it?" He countered, lightning-fast.

She froze.

Then he shook his head. "Although . . . I don't know that I want to waste a kiss this awesome when you're practically in a coma. When you swoon, I want it to be perfectly clear it was because of me. I think I'll wait till you can keep up."

And the next thing she knew was that they were soaring once more through the air, she bundled awkwardly in his arms, while her jaw remained stuck to the criss-crossing beams of the ferris wheel.


	3. THROUGH

Veronica awoke to a sound in the next room. She sat up and took in her surroundings, momentarily disoriented, before recognizing the gilded ceiling of the guest suite in Titania's home. _It must be barely sunrise_ , she thought, looking at the old-fashioned clock on the wall.

The noise caught her attention once more - _Sabrina_ , she registered. She slipped out of her bed to check on her daughter, dragging on her dressing gown as she went. She peered around the ornate archway that led from her room to Sabrina's, and drew in a sharp breath.

 _Puck_ was in her daughter's room.

Veronica growled in disapproval, about to march over to him, then froze as he turned.

Sabrina was in his arms, limp like an overgrown child, her head on his shoulder, arms dangling, legs wrapped around his waist. Fast asleep.

Was she wearing _his clothes_?

Veronica ducked back around the archway and watched as the boy walked over to the bed, pulled the covers off with one hand ( _where, for all things sacred, was the other?_ ) and carefully lowered Sabrina, unwinding her limbs from around his body as she sank into the soft mattress. With surprising gentleness, he drew the covers back over her, and stretched out his hand, as if to touch her, or brush her hair from her face. Then, he suddenly pulled back and cradled his hand against his chest, backed away, and hopped out the window, leaving no sign of having even been there.

Frozen in shock, Veronica stood wondering if this were a dream. Did that really happen? Had Sabrina been out _all night_?

Had she been out all night _with Puck_?

 _Where_ had she been out all night with Puck?

And what had she been _doing_ out all night with Puck?

She ran her hand over her face, feeling guilty that she'd watched it all, as if she were spying on her own offspring (which she was). _But that's my baby_ , she rationalized. _She's only sixteen. She has no business being out with boys who sneak her back into her bedroom at dawn._

Then it suddenly hit her: that was _Puck_.

That meant Sabrina had succeeded. She'd gotten him out of his room.

 _That's my girl_ , Veronica thought proudly as she turned toward the bathroom to get ready for the day.

* * *

"The Queen is busy this morning," the palace servants politely informed Veronica as they brought in her breakfast and bowed themselves out. "She will meet you for lunch, if you are still here, and hopes you enjoy breakfast in your suite."

Veronica thanked them and craned her neck to peek at Sabrina, still fast asleep in her bed. Much as she was curious about the night's happenings, she decided not to wake her daughter. She'd apparently had a long night out; perhaps, with the few extra hours of sleep, she'd be ready to face the world by lunchtime.

Veronica settled down to eat her meal alone. She was dressed in the same outfit she'd worn the day before - she was thankful that the guest suites were stocked with nightclothes so she didn't have to sleep in what she'd come in - and she'd made do with the cosmetics she'd already had in her handbag. If only she'd known why Titania had invited them to Faerie, she'd have packed an overnight bag, but one simply didn't ask questions when summoned by the Fae Queen.

Sabrina did, though. Veronica smiled to herself, remembering how her spitfire daughter had stood before the Queen the night before, firing questions about Puck in an attempt to find out as much as she could about the boy's self-imposed imprisonment. Titania had answered each one, looking slightly perturbed at the girl's forwardness, but it was evident that the normally-imperious woman was quite willing to cooperate if it meant an imminent reconciliation with her son.

Evident, at least, to Veronica. Titania might be a force to be reckoned with in the Fae world, but that night, she was just another mother, worried about a son who'd slipped beyond her reach to help him.

Although, Veronica had to admit, she still had trouble picturing Titania as Puck's mother. The boy had been a wild thing from the moment she'd met him (not in the palace; he'd been exiled by then) and she'd initially marveled that any mother could've cared for him without collapsing from exhaustion at the end of each day. Until she'd put two and two together and realized he was Titania's and Oberon's _other_ son, the Crown Prince, the disgraced brother, the one they'd never mentioned once in all the time she'd spent in Faerie, surreptitiously broking the cultural gap between humans and Everafters. After that, she'd understood why he'd been so proud to be a miscreant, why he'd refused to grow up, why he'd held them all at bay - even Relda, who'd taken him in and loved him as her own grandson. All except Sabrina, who'd somehow hijacked his heart and made him feel whole again.

And she understood Titania, too - the formidable Queen but powerless mother who'd stood by and watched her boy walk away from her because she wouldn't tell her husband he'd made a mistake, was stupid to have put his hubris before his own flesh and blood. When Veronica had heard - after the fact - that Oberon was dead, she'd grieved for Titania as only a wife could. It was hard enough to raise a child, but to do it alone, with no partner with whom to share the pride and fear, the heartache and relief, the joys and sorrows of that inexplicable paradox that was parenthood . . .

So Veronica had always cut Titania slack - not too much of it, for the Queen could still be a hellion when she wanted to - and tried to remember that under that cool and aloof exterior, she was a mother just like any other. Like herself.

And a mother of a _teenager_ , even if Titania's was that plus several thousand years' worth of fast-expiring childhood . . . well - that put them both in a different class altogether. They had _bragging rights_ now. They were practically a _club_. Not that she'd actually get together with the Queen of Faerie over coffee and bagels to exchange mothering tips and gossip about The Evils Of Technology In The Lives Of Adolescents. No, that would be pushing it. But helping another mother out when her moody teenager had turned prodigal? Yeah, she could spare a day or two, and even recruit her own teenager to lend a hand. Who may or may not have once had a crush on said prodigal. Who, in turn, may or may not have returned the favor, and might still be.

Veronica shuddered involuntarily. She was acting all Henry-like, she realized with amusement, being suspicious and protective and - if she dared admit it - possessive. _It's only natural_ , she reasoned with herself, _it's what teenagers do, and Sabrina could have done a lot worse than the future King of Faerie, especially now that he's cleaned himself up and stopped harassing her every other minute of the day._

A rustle of sheets brought her rumination to a halt. Sabrina was waking up - time to get to work. First, she was going to congratulate her daughter on a job well done. Then, she was _totally_ going to grill her about that boy.

* * *

Veronica was scrutinizing the tapestries on the walls of Faerie's dining room when she heard Titania gasp. She turned toward the Queen, seated at the head of the long table, and followed her startled gaze to the door.

Puck strolled in, hands in pockets, looking utterly relaxed, as if he hadn't just excommunicated himself from his family for four entire weeks. He was wearing the same hoodie she'd seen on her own daughter just hours before.

"Hello, Mother," he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "I hope I'm not late. I'm starving." He pulled out a chair directly opposite Sabrina's, and winked at her as he sat down.

Titania blinked a few times, one jewel-encrusted hand at her throat, and exchanged a glance with Mustardseed. The younger prince inclined his head to the servers standing by, and within seconds, lunch was brought in and set before them.

Puck fell on the appetizer almost immediately, completely oblivious to the stares of everyone else. His nonchalance was blaringly conspicuous; surely someone would eventually have to clear their throat politely and broach not only his solitary confinement but also his release - or was it escape? - from it.

It fell to Mustardseed, apparently, as their mother seemed unable to speak.

"Welcome back, Puck." His brother said, not without a hint of sarcasm.

"Srthangsz," Puck mumbled back through a mouthful of antipasti, waving his hand absently, as Sabrina rolled her eyes.

Mustardseed glared at him for a second, then shook his head and began to eat. For a while, there was silence around the table.

Then Mustardseed spoke again, and this time, there was clear anger in his tone.

"Are you going to tell us what's going on?"

Puck looked between Mustardseed and Titania, jaw working as he chewed, then sighed.

"Must we? It's so unpleasant to talk about that while we're eating. It just ruins a good meal, you know? And speaking of which -" He turned to the server closest to him, "Runefeather - it _is_ Runefeather, right? - tell the kitchen staff that the meals they sent during my. . . ah. . . sabbatical were awesome. I especially liked that one with the pheasant in the red sauce with bits of ginger root. Fabulous."

He looked at Sabrina and let loose a conspirational grin as Runefeather flushed red with pleasure, nodded, and exited. Sabrina's eyebrows were raised in surprise, but she smiled back.

 _What was that all about?_ Veronica thought. She glanced at the other two members of Puck's family and saw that they were every bit as baffled as she.

"Are you alright, brother?" Mustardseed asked, all resentment gone, replaced by undisguised concern. He lowered his voice to a hiss, "You not only remembered the name of the staff, but also complimented them!"

Puck opened his mouth to speak but the doors swung wide again to admit the next course. Everyone waited out the interruption in awkward silence until the servers stepped away from the table.

Mustardseed turned on Puck, waiting.

Puck speared a piece of fish with his fork, calmly ate it, and then sighed.

"Surely you didn't think I'd _died,_ " he announced. "I needed a break, that's all. I told you."

"A break?" Titania finally found her voice. "A break from what?"

Sabrina watched Puck with wide eyes, as she chewed on her lower lip.

"Oh . . . life. . . things. . . it's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" Mustardseed burst out in disbelief. "Four weeks without a word _not a big deal_? What could possibly be such a burden in your life that you'd need a whole month's break from?"

"More, if no one'd had the smarts to call in Grimm," Puck clarified. "Whose idea was it anyway? Yours? Mother's?"

"So it worked, then," Titania cut in, "to have the girl attempt to talk you out."

Puck laughed. "I wouldn't call the actual _talking_ a success, no."

Veronica frowned. _What_ exactly _had those two done last night?_

"What do you mean, son?" Titania leaned forward in her seat, her meal forgotten. "Don't speak in riddles, for the sake of -"

"Your Majesty?"

All eyes turned to Sabrina, who suddenly realized that it might not have been the wisest thing to interrupt the Queen mid-rant. Or ever. Even if it were blindingly obvious that things were going nowhere with this disaster of a discussion.

"Erm. . . to put your minds at rest, Puck isn't dying, or trying to get anyone's attention for once. And maybe it isn't that important how long he actually spent in his room. I think the real . . . issue is . . . um. . . He's had some . . . difficulty communicating, that's all. He's uh. . . just. . ." Sabrina floundered, wishing now to high heaven that she hadn't spoken at all.

"If you must know," Puck interrupted with a dramatic sigh, "I was having what the humans call a -" he locked eyes with Sabrina, "-mid-life crisis."

A stunned silence fell over the room.

"What is that?" Titania exploded in frustrated bewilderment.

Mustardseed blinked back his surprise and laid his hand on her arm. "I believe it's when someone experiences psychological and emotional difficulty in their middle years with regard to their identity and life direction."

"He means that I'm messed up because I don't know who I'm supposed to be," Puck translated, glaring at Mustardseed.

"Can it be cured?" Titania asked, aghast.

"It's not a disease, Mother," Mustardseed assured her. "It's more like . . . really bad stress."

"And it's temporary," Sabrina added. "Most of the time."

Titania looked like she might burst an artery. "How did he get it?" She demanded.

Veronica suddenly felt an urge to laugh. She remembered Puck's reaction to learning that, after centuries of blissful oblivion to the fact, he was finally undergoing puberty five years ago. He'd had the same misconception - that it was something he'd contracted from exposure to germs or other unclean things. Titania's agitation reminded her of how they were still worlds apart - the Fae and the humans they were trying so hard to befriend.

"Your Majesty," Veronica finally entered the discussion, "it's not uncommon among humans. Sometimes when people have worked very hard at something in their lives, like. . . a career, they suddenly realize that maybe it wasn't what they really wanted. And they might feel . . . lost, because they're already halfway through their lives and should already know what they want by then. Sometimes something happens to make them become aware of this - someone close to them dies, for instance, or they lose a job, or their marriage fails. It makes them suddenly unsure of what they're doing, or whether it's worth it to keep doing it. Do the Fae never experience this?"

Titania listened quietly, her panic dissipating at Veronica's calm words. She turned to Puck.

"Son? Is this true? Are you questioning who you are?"

Puck looked supremely uncomfortable as he sat, cutlery suspended over his main course.

"Well," he began, "that's a bit over-the-top. . . "

"Is this because of your coronation?" Titania pressed, apparently knitting clues and circumstances together in her head.

Puck remained silent, and Sabrina looked at him with sympathy.

"Do you not want to be King?"

Veronica rose from her seat and looked pointedly at her daughter. "Perhaps this is a matter to discuss with just family. If you will excuse us, Your Majesties, Sabrina and I will wait outside."

"No!" Puck turned fiercely to Sabrina. "Grimm, you don't have to go!"

"You'll be okay, Gashead," she returned affectionately. "You're impossible to get kill, remember?"

* * *

Sabrina and Veronica sat in the visiting lounge, twiddling their thumbs.

Veronica tried several times to open a conversation with her daughter, but it was as if she were a different girl than the one who'd walked through the hallways of Faerie just a day ago. It wasn't that Sabrina had distanced herself from her; she'd simply come into her own somehow, in those hours she'd spent talking sense into Puck. At least, that was _all_ Veronica hoped she'd done with the boy; she'd refused to divulge any details at breakfast when Veronica had asked.

"He's working something out, Mom," was all Sabrina would say. "But I think he's going to be okay. You know him - always one for theatrics. I never knew how much he had on his plate, though. And I keep forgetting how old he really is, especially when he's throwing tantrums like a spoilt brat."

Veronica realized now, of course, that her daughter hadn't meant to be evasive; she'd merely been trying to be a good friend to Puck, to not rat him out to the adults.

Sabrina had downed a few slices of toast, brushed the crumbs off the hoodie - obviously _his_ , judging from the size and style - and said she'd better check on him to make sure he'd keep his word about joining the family later.

Then she was gone, and Veronica had been left contemplating the void in her place. Every day, she'd mused, that girl grew up a little more, sounded a little more like an adult, lost a little more of her innocence. Before she knew it, this woman-child would be living under a different roof, part of another family; belonging to someone else.

Maybe she already was.

Veronica suddenly missed Henry very much, felt an acute longing to bury herself in his arms and mourn the loss of their baby - their first - even as her pride for the woman Sabrina was becoming swelled her heart to bursting. Henry would understand; no one else loved their daughter as much as he did. But when she'd picked up her cell phone, ready to dial home, she'd found that she couldn't. This wasn't something she could talk about from a distance, like reporting on a day at work. She needed to be _with_ him, to feel his solidness, to realize that she was still a wife even if she could hardly fathom how to be a mother to another woman.

Sabrina had returned to their guest suite later with an impish grin on her face, and announced that "the idiot boy" was planning to surprise his mother at lunchtime. Veronica's heart had danced to hear, with that one nickname, how much Sabrina had sounded like herself once more. But she didn't miss how her daughter's beautiful features had softened as she'd said it, or how she was no longer wearing the sweatshirt, but was hugging herself like she wished she still were.

* * *

When the door finally opened to eject the royal family, Veronica was still lost in thought.

Sabrina jumped to her feet, asking a thousand questions with her eyes, but Veronica took her time to rise, her gaze meeting Mustardseed's, who smiled at her. He looked more at peace than he'd had in the last couple of days.

Puck walked up to Sabrina and nudged her shoulder with his.

"You still game for those drinks?" He whispered, but failing to keep it low enough for Veronica not to hear. "I think I need one."

"Everything okay?" Sabrina whispered back.

Titania cleared her throat, interrupting them.

"Sabrina Grimm, once more, it appears you and your family have been instrumental in my son's return to us. I am grateful. He was right to choose you as his protector."

Sabrina swallowed, trying to find the words to respond. "Uh, sure. I mean, thanks."

Titania attempted to not roll her eyes, and failed.

"Please stay as long as you like," she continued. "We would be honored to have you as our guests."

"Thank you, Your Majesty, but we should be heading home," Veronica replied, thinking that, perhaps, the family needed time to be alone together. "I have some things to attend to, and Daphne and Henry must be missing us. But I'm glad everything has resolved itself. We were happy to help. Come, Sabrina, we -"

"Oh, but you just got here!" Puck blurted out, his air lofty even as he cast Sabrina a quick glance filled with meaning. "I was going to show Sabrina the lake. It's really cool, and the phoenixes are loads of fun. All wicked pranksters, they are. She'd have a blast."

Veronica didn't think Sabrina's idea of fun agreed with Puck's, but she glanced at her daughter's face and was not surprised to see longing there. She was sure it wasn't for the phoenixes, though.

Mustardseed looked astonished. "I wasn't aware that there were phoenixes by the lake."

"You aren't aware of a lot of things, little brother," Puck scoffed. "If you crawled out from under your rock sometime, you'd find plenty of stuff to be aware of. You work too hard."

"Well, one of us has to." Mustardseed retorted, but it was without malice.

Sabrina turned to Veronica. "Can I hang here for a bit, Mom? Maybe you can go home without me and I'll catch up later? I can take the bus and the subway."

"Or I could fly her," Puck offered. "I don't crash as much now that I notice the trees."

Veronica raised an eyebrow, remembering what she'd seen in her daughter's bedroom in the early morning.

"I don't think that's a good idea, honey," she stated cautiously, then sighed; there was no other way to say it. "Not without a chaperone."

Sabrina blushed, but Puck looked indignant.

However, Titania burst out before either could say a word, "How dare you accuse my son of impropriety!"

Veronica looked the Queen in the eye, fully aware that she was probably breaking several thousand rules of Fae etiquette by not only turning down Titania's invitation, but also insulting the future king to his face _and_ in the presence of his extremely volatile mother.

"I'm not accusing your son of anything." She said firmly. _My daughter, after all, will be as much to blame if anything happens; you might have forgotten what it's like to be sixteen, but I haven't._ "Thank you for inviting us. We'll stay till dinner, if that's alright, and then we should both leave for home."

Titania nodded, thoughtfully eyeing Puck and Sabrina walk off and unsubtly high-five each other. She turned back and said, "Perhaps you would join me for tea in an hour. I would like to speak with you in private, Veronica Grimm."

* * *

Veronica and Titania sat in the Queen's personal suite, a table set with tea and luscious cakes between them. Veronica was not a woman easily intimidated, and she did have genuine empathy for Titania, but it was hard to feel completely at ease with her - if her propensity for explosive displays of emotion was not sufficient cause for tension, the unknown nature of their meeting certainly was.

Her thoughts drifted to her daughter once more, now "hanging" with Puck somewhere in the palace. On the way to this meeting with Titania, Veronica had taken a route from her room that passed by the large doors opening out to the gardens. She'd paused to take in the gorgeous colors and heady scents - nature, after all, was Titania's and Oberon's domain - and heard laughter. Familiar laughter. _Her daughter's_ laughter.

Against her better nature, she'd stepped onto the grass and drawn closer.

There they were - sparring. _Sparring_. Hand-to-hand combat, full-body wrestling _sparring -_ snarling and growling and hooting with laughter as they called out raucous challenges to each other. She'd stared, mesmerized, at this bright, uninhibited version of her oldest child, enjoying her friendship with the boy who'd once shared their home.

 _Henry should see this_ , she'd thought, drinking in the sight with her eyes. He'd been so worried that the war had broken Sabrina, that her time in the foster care system had indelibly scarred her, that they'd forever lost the happy child of gold and blue that awful day when they'd been taken from her sister and her.

Suddenly, the laughter had stopped, and she'd drawn in a breath at the sight of Sabrina in Puck's arms, her hands on his chest, all smiles gone as they'd looked at each other.

Veronica had known that look.

She'd whipped around and quickly walked away. _No, Henry definitely shouldn't see that_. I _shouldn't have watched either, for that matter_ , she'd told herself, her heart hammering in her chest. As she'd walked to her meeting with the Queen, the scene replaying in her mind like a loop stuck on repeat, she'd tried to be reasonable: Sabrina had kissed him before, when he'd eaten the poisoned apple and she was the only one who could wake him up. You were okay with that, she'd reminded herself.

 _But they were eleven then. They were in denial then. It was just a crush then. You didn't think it would come to anything._

Just now, though - the way they'd looked at each other. _I wasn't ready to see that._

Long ago, when the girls had been little, everyone had warned her how fleeting those years would be.

"Enjoy them now," they'd said, experience bestowing on them the unchallenged right to inflict their opinions on strangers, "it'll go by before you know it. They grow up so fast."

 _But yours didn't, did he?_ Veronica thought, with a hint of envy, as the soft clink of silverware against china drew her attention from her introspection to Titania sitting before her. You _got to have him for centuries._

The Queen, unaware of Veronica's thoughts, was ominously silent as she stirred her tea, her eyes downcast. It was as if she were gathering herself to begin a speech. Or an attack.

A deep breath. Then,

"I confess I didn't think much of your daughter when I first laid eyes on her, Veronica Grimm. She is after all, human. Mortal. Without power. I was surprised when my son chose her as his protector, and even more surprised that he again refused to marry Moth when he returned to us five years ago. And imagine my shock when he decided to leave Faerie - of his own will this time - to accompany you Grimms to Ferryport Landing after Oberon's funeral. I thought he was simply unaccustomed to being back at the court after so many years of being away, or that perhaps he had loose ends to tie up in your town before coming home to assume the throne.

"Then I realized it was because of the girl - your daughter. Mustardseed alerted me to the fact that Puck was growing up. I should've seen it myself, but I was so full of grief and anger over my husband's murder . . ."

Veronica remained silent, partly out of respect for the Queen, and partly because she had no idea where this was going.

"Now," Titania went on, "while it is not unheard of for Fae and humankind to couple, it _is_ somewhat irregular for Fae royalty. However, I didn't object to Puck's affection for your daughter, because she was mortal, and if my son must have his fling, then so be it. She would eventually die, and he would move on."

Veronica clenched her fingers around her teacup, her jaw tense, willing herself with every ounce of her self-control not to smash it on the table and ram the shards into the Queen's eyes.

"Then it came to my knowledge that she - all of you - had become Everafters. She was now immortal. And Puck's feelings for her, rather than diminishing over time, were more obvious than before. He is, at any rate, continuing to grow older. And for _her_ , it appears, for they are of comparable age, are they not? So I had to consider this matter more seriously. This incident - your visit -" Titania swallowed, clearly troubled, "- has made me think that perhaps she is not what . . . that I might have misjudged her.

"Initially, I believed that, like Moth, she wanted Puck for his power, to be Queen someday. It would not be unrealistic to have imagined that, Veronica. The realm is filled with maidens with that exact ambition, and families with that exact ambition for their daughters. It is true that she is awkward in the ways of the court, not to mention ungracious in speech and impulsive in action. And she has appallingly little respect for me and my sons, even though we are royalty, and Fae, and of a long and glorious bloodline. But - " Titania laughed, and Veronica was pleasantly surprised at how the Queen's face lit up, and the lines fell away and brought out her natural, breathtaking beauty, "- are not the very monarchs of Faerie the same?"

Titania gathered herself, mirth still shining in her eyes. "And she managed what even Mustardseed and I could not - to get Puck to leave his room and his misery so we could be a family again. It is no mean feat. Your daughter is not without her own power, it seems."

Veronica sighed, thrown off-guard by the Queen's candor.

"I have a confession too," she spoke. "I didn't think much of your son, either, to be frank. He was uncouth and immature and constantly belittled Sabrina. In the beginning, at least. But I also saw him mature, and save her life, and it became obvious that he cares for her."

She paused, wondering if she should take the risk. Well, dang.

"I sometimes forget that he is the King of Faerie, or will be in the spring. When I look at him with Sabrina, all I see is a boy who might break her heart."

"I see the same thing when I look at your daughter." Titania spoke the words so quickly that Veronica suspected it took more courage to admit them than anything else the Queen had said so far.

"What is this meeting for, Your Majesty?" Veronica asked at last.

Titania sat back and sipped her tea. "The King of Faerie must have a queen at his coronation. Or be betrothed to one. It is Faerie law. When Puck was younger, Oberon chose Moth for him. It is the father's right to pick his son's bride, as you know. It turned out to be a poor choice, unfortunately - one of many my husband made in his lifetime. Perhaps it was justice that she was the one that killed him in the end. But that is inconsequential now: Moth is out of the picture. Puck will be King in the spring, and now that Oberon is dead . . ."

Veronica blanched. " _You_ will choose a bride for him?"

Titania nodded. "It is my right and responsibility, yes."

Veronica's heart was a lead weight. She could not speak, but it was just as well, because the Queen was continuing to.

"Sabrina Grimm may have much yet to learn of the ways of the Fae, but she has shown that she is tenacious, faithful, brave and does not shrink back from a challenge. Those are not altogether terrible qualities for a future Queen of Faerie. And . . . I believe she loves my son and can . . . has . . . made him happy."

Veronica was stunned speechless, her knuckles still white around the teacup.

"Did you not see them in the garden?" Titania continued, mistaking Veronica's silence for skepticism.

"You watched them?" Veronica found her voice at last. _Too?_

"Yes."

"What are you saying, Titania?" Veronica managed in a hoarse whisper, fear and dread causing her to forget the title and address the Queen by name. _She's only sixteen! She is still a child! She is_ my _child!_

"I remember when I was chosen as Queen," Titania digressed unexpectedly, her voice quiet as she reminisced. "It was an honor, of course. And I tried to think of it as that. But I was a young fairy girl, and terrified. I did not love Oberon when I first married him, and he did not love me; neither of us had had a say in the matter - I was picked for him, as was the custom. That is not to say we did not ever have feelings for each other. I think that by the end of his life, we did care for one another. And . . . I feel his loss. When I was watching Puck grow up these last few years, and when I was watching your daughter with him, I wished Oberon were here to tell; it is the kind of thing parents talk about, is it not? When the boys learned to fly, for instance, we talked about it. When Mustardseed made his first treaty and settled his first dispute with a neighboring kingdom, we talked about them. I was proud of him, my second son. But now, watching Puck become King, and falling in love . . ."

Veronica winced. It was _her_ daughter, after all, that the falling-in-love was happening with.

". . . I miss him. I miss my husband. I returned to my bedchambers last night and felt his absence anew. He did not always understand me, or why I chose to treat Puck and Mustardseed differently from him. But he was their father, and if not him, who else would know them, or be interested in what they did, what they said, how they were becoming men? Sometimes I think motherhood can be very lonely. Is this something you can understand? You are a wife and mother yourself, after all."

Oh, yes, did Veronica understand. She nodded, her throat tight with so many words fighting to get out that they trapped each other and held each other down.

"I have made decisions that I am not proud of," Titania went on, "although if you tell this to anyone else, Veronica Grimm, I will deny it and have you beheaded, regardless of whether or not you are the mother of my son's future wife. Letting Puck be exiled, for example - I should have stood up to Oberon. Perhaps it goes even farther back than that; I never encouraged Puck to be better than he was. But that is all in the past; it cannot be undone. This next decision I make, however, I hope will be a good one. And I make it not as a queen, but as a mother."

Veronica was in a state of unparalleled panic. If the Queen was going to say what Veronica thought she was going to say, Sabrina was doomed. In love with Puck or not, she was too young. Too young to know for certain he was whom she wanted, too young to never experience love with anyone else, too young to rule a kingdom she knew next to nothing about, too young to abandon her own dreams for a career, a life of her own making, too young to be a mother and bear heirs, too young, too young, too young.

And once the Queen of Faerie pronounced it, it would be _law_ , and nothing short of her daughter's death - or banishment - would change it. Veronica would have to stop Titania. She was Sabrina's _mother_ ; for Sabrina, she would fight the most powerful Fae in existence with her own bare hands - and a broken teacup - if she had to.

She rose from her seat, shaking.

"But I have been thinking," Titania spoke calmly, completely unaware of the storm brewing within her companion. "I _could_ choose your daughter as his betrothed, as Moth once was. Puck is sixteen, after all - he is of age, and will probably be more amenable to the idea of marriage now. However, your daughter is sixteen also - that _is_ young for humans, is it not? And . . . she might not want him."

Veronica blinked, confused.

"Now, Puck himself can repeal this law, but only as King. But he is not King until his coronation, and the next Queen must already have been named by then. Dreadfully circular; you see the problem."

Veronica was light-headed by now, and too weak to even scream by the time Titania spoke her next words.

"So _I_ will abolish this law. I can, you know; I am still Queen. It will be my gift to him as his mother. He should be free to choose whom he wants to marry, if he wants to marry at all. It could be that he chooses her after all, and she accepts him in return, and no one has a broken heart, and they live a long, happy life together. But it should be _their_ choice. Before I became a mother, and lost my son, I did not understand this. It is strange how things are sometimes."

Veronica collapsed in her chair, her mind reeling, every nerve in hyperdrive from the blast of adrenaline through her system.

What just happened? Or, more precisely, what just _didn't_?

Titania sighed and poured herself more tea.

"I apologize," she said quietly, playing with the rings on her fingers, "I am very tired. I think that it is more exhausting being a mother than a queen. I need to rest now. I may not join you and your daughter for dinner, so forgive me for not sending you off when you leave."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Veronica stuttered, still in shock.

" _Titania_ , please," the Queen replied. "If our children, in spite of us, someday marry, _you_ will be the Queen's mother. There need be no titles between us."

Veronica nodded dumbly, not having the wherewithal to even thank the Queen. She rose to go, then paused and turned back.

"But . . . what did you want to meet _me_ for?" She asked, puzzled. "I hardly spoke a word, and you'd already worked out what you were going to do."

Titania released her hands from where they'd been kneading her temples, and looked at Veronica.

"To listen, of course. As a mother and . . . friend. I knew you would understand."

* * *

After Veronica had left, Titania continued to sit for some time, sipping cool tea, the fancy cakes ignored on the table.

Then she rose and went to her bookcase, searching among the volumes of written parchment until she found the one she wanted. She unrolled it and read the law inscribed there - the only copy in existence, its words filled with power, protected within the personal chambers of the immortal King and Queen of Faerie.

"Oberon," she spoke into the empty air. "I miss you, my love. I wish you were here with me tonight. So much has happened and I miss having you to share it all. Can you see us from where you are? Can you see your son? Would you recognize him, now sixteen, as the human years go? When you were alive, you did not have faith in his wisdom and his decisions, but I choose to. He has shown himself capable of making good choices, and surrounding himself with good people, even if they are outsiders. He cares for his kingdom, perhaps even more than you or I ever have, or will. And . . . he has fallen in love. Our little boy! Not the way we did, forced together before we were allowed to choose each other. I am allowing him to choose whomever he wants. Yes, I am changing the immutable law of Faerie. Forgive me, beloved, but I am hopeful that if you were here, seeing what I've seen, you would be proud of your son, too, and you might do the same."

She felt her magic warm her hand as she communed with her ghosts. She thought of what she'd seen in the gardens that afternoon and remembered how, at the mid-day meal, Sabrina Grimm had tried to protect her son's dignity when they'd interrogated him; how, in that private family conference later, he'd lost it and sworn he would not rest until he'd gutted out every selfish, stifling rule that his father had enforced on their people for his own stinking sake. It seemed that in spite of her own errors, her son had the makings of a fine king, and the girl would be a fitting mate for him.

Even more so if they chose those paths themselves; she would make sure of it.

She laid her palm on the scroll and watched it burn.

* * *

 **A/N: First, my apologies to Puckabrina shippers who were holding out for an explicit written kiss. I tried to write one in, but I liked the story more without it. It's not just the tension; I've always believed that intimacy is even more powerful when it happens at a level deeper than the physical, and the _picture_ of intimacy even more powerful when seen through the eyes of observers. Hence this chapter, written in the POVs of the mothers, watching their children navigate that transition from friendship to something more. It was fun to write. My only regret is that Mustardseed - whom I LOVE - remained comparatively 2D next to everyone else. I didn't have it in me to flesh him out more in this context. Anyway.**

 **Also, sixteen is such a wonderful age. I'm older than sixteen, obviously, but I think I'll always be partial to to that age over any other in my teenagehood - not quite old enough to leave home and face the Next Phase Of Your Life questions, but not so young that I didn't appreciate true friendships or know what/who I wanted to be. If only I could bottle time, as my mother says, I'd love to have saved a bit of it (except for my appalling fashion sense; _that_ I'm happy not to remember). Well, Ma - maybe I am understanding what it's like, after all. Just a little bit.**

 **And now, what age shall I write P+S next? Eighteen? Twenty? Four hundred and eleven? And what twisted plot shall I cast them in? Give me your ideas and requests, if you have any, and let's see if we can avoid the tired and old scenarios, shall we? Have a lovely weekend!**


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